CALL IT A REDWOOD

 

Hours before Jesus was sold into execution, in the final night before Peter tasted cowardice on his own tongue, the small but mighty ministry team led by the Son of Man observed the Passover feast together. Words fail to capture the significance of the evening, the thunderous emotional dynamics, or honor the horror of the following morning, when the Man who then bent to wash the feet who would soon flee from Him was pierced to hang from cursed cross beams until He suffocated. But John the beloved began his account of the evening with these words:

“Now before the Feast of the Passover, when Jesus knew that His hour had come that He should depart from this world to the Father, having loved His own who were in the world, He loved them to the end.”[1]

He loved them to the end.

Much could be said about this due cause for meditation. Today, however, we bring our attention to its tethered verse in this same evening narrative:

“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another as I have loved you. By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.”[2]

As I have loved you.

This graduates the qualitative standard communicated in the “second greatest” commandment, to love our neighbor as we love ourselves.[3] Now we are held responsible to love our brothers and sisters in the family of Jesus, our fellow disciples—not as we love ourselves, but as Jesus has loved us. He considers this a litmus of discipleship; “by this all will know”—not simply that we belong to Him—but that we obey Him. That we emulate Him. That we bear a true and faithful witness of Him. Loving as Jesus loves is qualitatively distinct from human culture and instinct, perhaps so clearly evidenced by modern cancel culture and internet call-outs. Jesus does not shun the shamed. But what does it mean to “love till the end”?

Living illustrations are embedded within created order,[4] and the rest of creation will do its job even when we Image Bearers do not.[5] We have been given a picture of this enduring love through the perhaps unlikely, unexpected candidates of redwood trees. Known for their incredible girth gained through years of growth, redwood trees earned their name for their unique color and covering. The latter shields them from insects commonly responsible for devouring the life out of other trees (which lack this covering), and preserves them when fires rage. Think of it: a red covering that guards you from otherwise certain death.

We are meant to glean from what is woven into all He made with His word, without passively shirking our responsibility to bear incarnate witness of the Incarnate Word.[6] In this case, redwoods declare to us the blood that “speaks a better word,”[7] and is enough to cover even a “multitude of sins.”[8] The “meekness of wisdom”[9] matures fledging flames[10] into what cannot be snuffed out by wild and worldly winds,[11] forging the only strength that will endure through the trials of this present evil age[12] and continue to stand when eternity tests the finitude of man.[13] And, like the magnificent and mighty Redwood National Forest, individuals who share the blood red covering are knit together within their very roots, and body life blends the beginning of one and end of another. Indeed, “they had all things in common.”[14]

These ideas “preach good,” but without the power that pulled the slaughtered Lamb out of the tomb and into glory, they are merely cute felt-board slogans for the well-intentioned. But as Jesus stared down the barrel of betrayal, abandonment, and cowardice across the men He’d selflessly invested years into, He nonetheless “loved them to the end.” In the words of Tom Petty, He didn’t back down. A previous conversation between Jesus and His first disciples illuminates this for us:

Peter, having just heard Jesus’ stringent requirements to confront sin, cover shame,[15] and guard honor with Kingdom codes of conflict resolution,[16] wanted to know where the loopholes were. Much like the lawyer looking for his “out” to avoid the burden of loving everyone as though they were his neighbor,[17] Peter wanted to hear he didn’t have to forgive everyone for everything. There had to be a limit, right?*

“Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?”[18]

Seven is perfection. Seven feels impressive. Intense disciples are willing to forgive even up to seven times.

But no—Jesus gently, and firmly, calls Peter to something higher: “I do not say to you ‘up to seven times,’ but seventy times seven.”[19]

Seventy sevens. Where had Peter heard that term before?

Generations before the Son of Man took on the form of His form,[20] the prophet Daniel[21] saw Him in a night vision, “coming on the clouds in glory.”[22] This vision bore witness to a king to come, the seed of the serpent alluded to so long ago,[23] who would ravage the people of God for seventy weeks[24]—seventy weeks of seven days—before being conquered and apprehended by the Rider on the white horse for the inevitable restoration of all things.[25]

What has this to do with forgiveness? All our days are numbered,[26] and so our opportunities to walk the way of the Crucified One[27]—and carry our own death planks[28]—are numbered as well. No one can enter eternity and sit at the Marriage Supper of the Lamb,[29] the feast for union with Him who was slain before the foundation of the world,[30] harboring offense at another sinner in our heart. Such bitterness will damn you to eternity apart from the just Judge of the ages.[31] So Jesus’ words to Peter were those of a sage and sober wisdom: Forgive every day, until the last day. You forgive and keep forgiving till the end of the age; the welfare of your very soul is at stake.[32] You love till the end.

Thus our wandering in this age of exile bears a witness to the world of the better love of obedience, the fragrance of Him who forsook comfort and reputation to be abused and reviled.[33] The One who is patient, kind, and rejoices only in the truth—never in the shame and slander of those dying in sin.[34] The One who bears and endures all things because He believes in all the best things and invests His blood into the hope of redemption.[35] And we are His field,[36] His house, His forest—covered by the blood that is only ever enough, knit together in the Spirit of truth and love.[37]

When we stand on the sea of glass and cast our crowns to the worthy One we get to adore for eternity, we will hold up our testimonies like the trophies of grace we are fashioned by His hand to be; and together, woven into one body by the Root of Jesse,[38] covered by the One who bore our shame,[39] we will be like the age-enduring forest of meek and mighty redwood trees.

May it be so.


Stephanie Quick (@quicklikesand) is a writer/producer serving with FAI. She lives in the Golan Heights and cohosts The Better Beautiful podcast with Jeff Henderson. Browse her free music, films, and books in the FAI App and at stephaniequick.org.


*In this cultural moment of so many man-made institutions and ethics being shaken and exposed as corrupt, fraudulent, and insufficient, I feel it is particularly worthwhile to note that Matthew 18 is not and should never be used as an excuse to hide (inappropriately cover) sin. It is a safeguard to advocate for victims, confront sin, yet cover shame—as “when one among us stumbles, we who are spiritual should restore in a spirit of gentleness, considering ourselves lest we also be tempted.” And if we successfully pull a brother or sister back from the cliff side of sin’s fatal wages and sober them up from their lustful delusions, we have “saved a soul from death,” “covered a multitude of sins,” and “fulfilled the law of Christ.” [See Galatians 6:1-2; James 5:19-20] These are difficult tasks that cost nothing less than the blood of God to make possible. That said, forgiveness is not synonymous with relational restoration. We are responsible for forgiveness. The Lord will restore all things under the blood of Jesus in His time. We urge you to seek the safety of the Body when dealing with conflict, as prescribed through Jesus’ commands.

[1] John 13:1
[2] John 13:34-35
[3] Matthew 22:39
[4] Romans 1:19-20
[5] Luke 19:40
[6] John 1:1; Acts 1:6-8; Romans 1:20
[7] Hebrews 12:24
[8] Proverbs 10:12; James 5:20
[9] James 3:13
[10] Isaiah 42:3
[11] See Matthew 7:24-27; James 1:5-6
[12] Galatians 1:4
[13] Isaiah 2:12-17; 1 Corinthians 3:10-15
[14] Acts 2:44
[15] Genesis 3:7, 21
[16] Matthew 18:15-20
[17] Luke 10:29
[18] Matthew 18:21
[19] Matthew 18:22
[20] Genesis 1:26-27; Philippians 2:7-8
[21] Matthew 24:15
[22] Daniel 7:13
[23] Genesis 3:15
[24] Daniel 9:24
[25] Matthew 19:28; Revelation 19:11
[26] Psalm 90:12
[27] Matthew 7:13-14; Luke 13:24
[28] Luke 9:23-27
[29] Revelation 19:7
[30] 1 Peter 1:19-20
[31] Ephesians 4:31; Hebrews 12:15; James 3:14
[32] Matthew 6:12; 18:21-35
[33] Isaiah 53:3; 2 Corinthians 2:15-16; Philippians 2:5-11
[34] 1 Corinthians 13:4-7
[35] ibid.; Revelation 12:11
[36] 1 Corinthians 3:9
[37] Ephesians 2:13-22; Colossians 2:2
[38] Isaiah 11:1, 10; Romans 15:12; Revelation 22:16
[39] Isaiah 53:12; 2 Corinthians 5:21